Caged
by sinking815
Summary: Kate feels trapped when Sawyer calls her on something she doesn't quite know how to deal with. S3 speculation, Skate with strong Jate undertones.


_Caged_  
_By Sinking815_  
_October 9th, 2006_

_A/N: So I don't want to startle anyone when you read this, so I'm saying it up front. This is a one-shot, it is Skate, but it is Skate with strong Jate undertones. That being said, please read and review!_

* * *

She counted the seconds from the time she heard the door slamming somewhere through the dense jungle brush until the dull thump of rubber soles crushed the dirt along the hidden path. They slowly grew in volume, seeming to match the rhythm pounding steadily in her head, aggravating the throbbing until she couldn't separate the two. She counted five more seconds and then waited for the footsteps to stop, as they always did, and then listened for the bars of her prison to rattle in protest when he leaned with all his weight against the metal. She refused to turn around and face his leering smile, the thought making her stomach twist viciously inside her.

"Not hungry again, Kate?" His gruff voice was sickeningly friendly as if he were searching for a connection to a scared and wounded animal. Well, she thought, that's exactly what she was to them, wasn't it? Kate rolled her eyes and didn't even flinch in reply. If they wanted to play this game, she'd do her part. Animals didn't talk back.

"You gonna just let this go to waste?"

Still no answer.

"All right then," he sighed, a hint of disapproval lacing his words.

She listened for the clang of bowls passing between the bars, heard the rubber soles crush more earth across the path, heard his voice, muffled because he was facing away from her, talking to the man in the other cage. She heard Sawyer defend her decision, as if she had asked him to be big brother and protect his baby sister from the schoolyard bully. Even though, she appreciated it, Kate hunched down, drawing her knees closer to her chest, crossing her arms of the length of skirt that somehow managed to swallow most of her short frame.

She knew Tom would look back at her, his face a false mask of sympathy and concern. Knew that he would walk away, a slight grin on his face, the one that frustrated her with its elusive promise. She knew the pregnant pause that would follow his absence, knew the random moments of awkwardness when he knew he shouldn't but wanted to say something and she wished he wouldn't but knew he eventually would. Her stomach would give an audible growl they both pretended not to notice.

"Why're ya doin' this to yourself, Freckles?" he would ask softly, being gentle, putting himself on the line only to be ripped apart by her tumultuous emotions. She knew she shouldn't throw it back in his face, that he hadn't done anything wrong. But Kate had stopped caring about others when she learned that they could cut just as deeply as the handcuffs that had ravaged her wrists.

"At least we're getting real fish instead of those Animal Crackers on steroids."

He couldn't see her smile with her back to him, but he saw her body jump slightly. The way it rose and fell, tensed as if she'd been driving too fast over a bump in the road, let him know he'd found that familiar chink in her armor. The small tell let him know that if only for a moment, he'd achieved a small victory, broke the inevitable push-pull of the tension threatening them, like the cloudy skies overhead.

But that fog settled back just as quickly as it had evaporated, coalescing with the thick humidity, making it hard to focus on anything but the silence. Sawyer knew that trick of "Hey, look-at-the-bright-side-followed-by-some-sarcastic-one-liner" only worked once. Now to crack her exterior, he needed to do one of two things—make her cry or piss her off. All his life, Sawyer had opted for the second because he'd never quite learned how to walk away from the first unaffected.

"C'mon Freckles. You and me both know they ain't gonna give in just because you plan on bein' moody," he snarled, allowing exasperation and annoyance to slide into his voice. Rule number one: fuel anger with anger.

Kate fell for it, letting her head shift slightly to the left, before she checked herself and straightened out. But she knew he had seen the tell, the one that told him she was listening. So he went for the jugular.

"Yeah," he said, nodding, letting that cocky grin that infuriated her break into his dimples. "I know exactly what you're doin'." He paused, partly for effect, partly to gauge any sudden reaction. "Took me a day, but I've got you all figured out."

There was the hook

"You have _no idea_ what this is about," she bit back.

She took the bait.

"I know _exactly_ what you're all about."

Now for the sinker. Just be patient. Wait for it. Wait for it.

She was up on her feet, stalking angrily towards him, her hands clenched in fists that may have been threatening had he not been separated by a good twenty feet and two barred walls. Even so, he could still feel the scorching heat of her fury shining brightly across the way.

"Then what is it?" she growled. "If you've got me all figured out?"

He chuckled at the femininity of the white dress, swishing softly about her legs and the way she stood braced for the fight.

"Starvin' yourself and pinin' ain't gonna bring good ol' Hero to ya," Sawyer said, raising his eyes just enough to see her own drop away from the moment they had been spitting fire at him. He studied the way she ducked her head as if to hide her moment of weakness from his blue eyes. But Sawyer was ready for it, saw his opportunity.

"What?" he drawled. "You think by makin' yourself sick, Robin Hood and his Merry Men are gonna bring Prince Charming to your rescue." Her eyes were telling him to stop, that he won this round, that she was waving the white flag. She should know better.

"It's 'cuz he's the only MD here right?" he quipped.

"Sawyer," she said softly, her voice meek and pleading.

"They ain't gonna buy it," he continued.

"Please," she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling his throat tighten at what he was about to do.

"Now they know Freckles," he said. "They know…"

"Don't," she swallowed.

"…that you love him."

He had been expecting a rant, a denial, anger, rage, bewilderment, anything but the reaction he got now. He had wanted all of those because he knew how to do with them. So when the lone tear slid slowly down her dirt-stained cheek and her eyes wounded him more effectively than any tranquilizer dart ever could and when she turned her back, her hands unclenching, her shoulders slumped in defeat, Sawyer stormed to the other side of his cage in frustration.

He never knew what to do when he made her cry.


End file.
